


Shieldmaiden of Winterfell

by RockSiren



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Future-fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-07
Updated: 2011-07-14
Packaged: 2017-10-20 05:38:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/209342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RockSiren/pseuds/RockSiren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>10 years down the road- if Jory hadn't died, and is instead Master of Arms for Lord Bran.  Arya comes home a grown woman.  Fun ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> 10 years down the road- if Jory hadn't died, and is instead Master of Arms for Lord Bran. Arya comes home a grown woman. Fun smut-ensues. It started out as a one-shot, but just built up, and yeah I know Jory is probably older than this, but I liked him on the series so I de-aged him about 5 years so it wouldn't be too creepy. If I was a great writer like GRRM, I'd be out there publishing my own books instead of writing wishful cheese. That being said, enjoy!

His head felt hot and huge. It felt like a chill he once caught as a child, a strange and confusing nightmare whenever he opened his eyes. Only this time it wasn't his mother standing over him, swabbing his forehead with a cool cloth and feeding him broth. When he tried to open his eyes now, only one opened. The other was wrapped but Jory could feel his own crustiness seeping through the bandage. If he kept his eye it would be a miracle. Throbs of pain flashed across his face in time with his heartbeats and he was pretty sure that golden-haired ponce had broken his nose.

He sighed, and rested his head against the iron bars of the dungeon, which caused a hot feeling to sweep over him. Reaching up the hand with no-broken fingers, the back of his head was moist and hot. That's how they got him out of the fight- very honorably hitting him from behind. All that pain was nothing compared to what plagued his heart- he had failed. They had taken Lord Stark. And he couldn't do anything about it. He leaned to the side and vomited and gingerly closed his eyes, thinking of home- his father and brothers. But he wished the Gods would let him die and maybe get to see his mother again.

'Ridiculous', he thought. ' I am a man of 5 and 20.' Yet he wanted to see her smiling face and feel a cold cloth across his brow.

A few days later he saw Lord Stark being dragged away, being supported by two sentries on either side of him. The Lord had told him little, only that he had fought honorably.

 

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He lived with a shame of his own making. It wasn't shameful to anyone else- not Lord Bran or Lady Meera or anyone. But in his head- he had failed. He abruptly woke up, his eyes adjusting quickly to the inside of his room. One leg hung off the bed and hit the floor, almost prepped to run. He had sweat on his brow and the anxiety filled his chest. It was the nightmare again- the nightmare of Ilan Payne and Joffrey the boy-king parading Lord Stark's head through the dungeons for the men of Winterfell. The round lump had made its rounds through the town. The disembodied eye shifted to him, its cracked and red mouth opening saying "Jory!" A thumping came from beyond his door.

"Ser Cassel? Ser?"

It was one of the squires, high-pitched voice squeaking on the cusp of manhood. He pulled on his breeches and ran a hand over his chest, unlatching the door and opening it 6 inches. The small squire stood unsurely outside his room, weight shifting from foot to foot. Jory was tall- 6'1", and the Squire stood gazing up at the muscular man.

"Sir, scouts came. The party is almost here…modest as it is." He said with almost a girlish chuckle.

Jory's brow wrinkled in confusion but couldn't help smirking. "Thank you Horas." The young man nodded and turned to leave. Jory shoved he door shut and walked to his looking glass, first dipping his hands into a basin and running the chilly water over his face. Glancing up at himself, he tried feebly to smooth back his dark hair, and it was the first time in a long time he noticed the scar running across his eye- a red indent staring from his forehead and going down to graze his top of his cheek.

"At least the Gods let me keep the eye", he said to aloud to himself.

 

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Arya pulled back the reigns on her horse, slowing it to a stop when she reached the top of the hillfort. It had been 10 years. 10 years since she had seen the home in her heart, the Grey Fortress of Winterfell.

A million memories quickly flashed through her mind. But always forefront was blood…the smile faded. Even the memories of her home spilled over with blood she hadn't even seen- her mother, her father, her brave strong brother. Who was there who would know her? Bran yes, but who was he now? And Rickon?

She straightened her back and pulled down her cloak.

 

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Jory stood in his Guard tunic over boiled leather and chain mail around his neck. His cloak fastened at his shoulder with the wolf-sigil, signifying he was the Master of Arms. He glanced around the courtyard, having had greeted the riders who had come before the party. The small area in the Fell carried on usual quiet business, although most of the small folk and farmers had stopped and looked in curiousity. Lord Bran sat and Lady Meera stood on the overlook from their chambers, also dressed in their finest. Although he did not fear her approach, he was nervous all the same. When the horse came through the gate and cleared the portcullis, he cleared his throat and straightened up.

She appeared atop her horse, all dignity with no real ceremony. Jory's lips parted- he remembered Arya as a mischevious child, all at once infuriating and amusing. But this was Arya the woman- had she changed really this much?

The lady rider was petite but sat straight up in her saddle. Her dark chestnut hair flowed freely about her shoulders. Her cloak flew behind her, flashing on the insides of Braavosi silks of purple and green. The purple brought out her grey eyes, almost violet against the slightly tanned skin and tiny amount of freckles across her cheeks. The long face of her childhood had been replaced by one with high cheekbones and full lips, which despite her best efforts curled into a smile as she looked around her childhood home. His eyes wandered down her body, the brown leather bodice showing a good amount of cleavage, also slightly freckled. His mouth twitched a little. She was beautiful- not like Lady Sansa, but in a different way. As she rode by, she wore skin tight black leather leggings on her lean but muscular legs. He did also note that there were at least 3 small knives hidden- 2 in her boot and one in the back of her thighs.

'Her life has been hard' he remembered to himself.

He approached her horse and bowed.

"My lad-"

And before the words could come out her face recognized him and erupted into a smile. She slid quickly and quietly off her mare and threw her hands about his neck.

"Jory!" he kept his grin small, their eyes filling with tears as they broke apart. She was indeed the same- some fires could never be extinguished, and he was glad.

"Welcome home My Lady- no escort?", he said quietly bowing and taking her hands from his shoulders and giving them a quick squeeze. She grimaced- before she could answer-

"ARYA!", a voice-rang out from above, and they looked to see Bran smiling impishly over the railing, his face red with excitement. He and Mera disappeared from the railing and in moments were down in the courtyard. Well-wishes from the four corners of the North crowded around them, and with some of the Guards, were all ushered back into the castle.

 

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Jory exhaled. I wonder what Lord Stark would think of how everything turned out. He went into the small study, the one that had belonged to his Uncle before the war and began to write the events for the day. He had a tendency to try to write several days in one sitting, so he tried to make a concerted effort to be a proper Master and do it everyday. He didn't always succeed. He started a new page for Arya, next to the one for Sansa and Theon. He couldn't help but grin at that one- Theon would be paying. For the rest of his wedded days, Lady Sansa swore to Bran. She now OWNED him she proclaimed- now they get to be Lord and Lady and play house on the Iron Islands, by the sea.

Under Arya's name he wrote "Lady Arya has returned home. A woman of 9 and 10, she is comely of face and rambunctious of spirit. Presumed dead for 6 years, she is indeed healthy and has returned without escort." He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes.

 

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Arya's eyes widened at the sounds, sights and smells of the Hall. It had always seemed much big, but she remembered thinking it was positively HUGE when she was 9. But it didn't matter- everything was loud and alight with cheer. Musicians and people dancing, must be the fruits of a obviously bountiful harvest season. She had chosen to dress "as a lady", but as the lady she was and had become accustomed to. On Braavos, there were clothes that shone like the sun, were colored like the sea or looked like spun gold. Her dress moved with her, softly sliding against her skin. The top was a dark blue, with two straps, one over her shoulders and one across her arms. The same pieces of fabric came together underneath the bodice trailed down the front of her. It swirled around her legs. Her hair was piled elaborately on the top of her head- she was too tired to argue with the young maid after chatting all afternoon and relaxing in the bath. She smiled in secret satisfaction that she could still feel the dagger strapped to her leg. She wasn't completely naked.

Bran and Mera sat in their prospective seats at the front of the hall, Bran looking for an instant like Robb and Arya's breath caught in her throat. But the image changed and it was Bran signaling her to sit and offering her his mug of Honey-Wine. She sat down, and partook of the first course, eyes scanning the room for anyone she knew.

"So few have returned", she said under her breath.

"What? I could not hear you!" her brother yelled over the music.

"It is strange being here" she yelled back, forcing a smile.

"Well strange or no, you are home!" Mera replied.

Suddenly Arya's eyes filled with tears. Was this as she wanted? Would they think her so innocent with everything she had done? What she had been FORCED to do to survive.

'Crying is for children', she told herself, squeezing her eyes. Instantly she knew she was being observed. She had always been able to feel that sort of thing, as long as she could remember. These dangerous years and training had made her that much better. Arya opened her eyes and met Jory's gaze. He had been sitting at the Guard's table, leaning slightly forward , one arm folded in front of him, propping him up, the other hand holding his ale. He was looking at her, slightly predatory but not dangerous. He flushed when their eyes met, and he averted his gaze for a millisecond, meeting her eyes again and bringing up his ale mug and tipping it and his head in her direction. He smiled, the scar actually making his face more handsome. Suddenly she was back to a girl of 7, being led around on a small pony by a skinny-man of twenty, laughing when she told him she wanted to learn to ride and shoot a bow at the same time.

Jory got up from the table and she followed him with her eyes. She had a stirring in her stomach as she surveyed his tall, muscular form. Over the years, when she had thought of him, she always thought of his kind-eyes. Not that the color was remarkable, but the shape.

"Baby-making eyes" she remembered Old Nan saying about them. He had aged, but it made him more rugged, seasoned. Now there was more behind those eyes- he was the last in a line of mighty Knights.

'I wonder if he feels guilty for surviving. As I do.'

Jory had felt very silly being caught and flushing like a boy when Arya had met his gaze. He got up himself to have more ale, as something to distract him from her beautiful form and semi-ample bosom. The way that Southern fabric clings to her, it sweeps around her like a flame. He felt slightly aroused and was embarrassed- not that he didn't have his chances- the serving wenches were all around, a few winked, some smiled. But he had come back a different man- and no longer had a desire to lose his sorrows inside of a wench. He had tried, and afterwards he felt worse than ever. Alone. Arya reminded of him of someone he used to be. He downed another cup of ale in one swallow, and before he could get it down, he heard the shushing of a fabric and a familiar voice.

"Ser Cassel, you have been looking at me all night and not even asked me to dance". He turned to see Arya standing there, about half-a-foot shorter physically but equal height in presence. He swallowed hard, the large amount of liquid slightly hurting on its way down.

"Ah Lady Arya", he laughed sheepishly. "I did not mean to cause offense. I think I had gotten too much into my ale and did not wish to break your toes."

She laughed and tugged his arm, her grip unbelievably strong.

"I will risk it".

 

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He had seen her to her chambers, after they called a draw on a drinking contest. He had never been beaten- and especially not by a small lady. He forfeited to save some face in front of his men. They all cheered for Arya and she threw her hands in the air, sending him a little air kiss. Now they swayed next to each other, still bopping to the music fading away from them in the Hall. He bowed and kissed her hand, his eyes lingering for a moment over her lips. Lips meant to be kissed, lips pink and smiling. He thought better of it.

"Good Evening Lady Arya- I shall see you on the morrow". He walked quickly away. He was not worthy of her.

"Good night!", she called after him. She shrugged and let herself into her room. He fell into a blissful, dreamless sleep. She dreamed of riding horses and shooting arrows.

 

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Jory walked out the castle to the training yard and was surprised to see all the young paiges, squires and a few of his men gathered in a loose circle around something. Inside he found Arya with one of the squires. By this point she had him a half-nelson with one arm, her other holding a Tourney-sword to his face.

"See you can have on all the armor you like- but if your opponent is even one step faster-" with that she released the squire, breathing heavily, "all that's left is death." They nodded, even a few cheers.

Jory smiled and came through the small crowd.

"Okay okay, that's enough- I think we all have our duties to attend to. So- go on." He waved around him dismissively and the mass of people dissolved. She was dressed in simple britches and a bodice over an undershirt. He did note her bare feet. He captured her gaze with a rye smile.

"So…" he said, walking around her and up to her from behind. He put his arm around her shoulder "this is where you left it. What do you do next?" he asked huskily into her ear, the warmth of her bare neck coming through his shirt. He breathed in her scent- like fresh grass and honey. He poked the tourney sword into her back. She smiled to herself she lightly elbowed him in the stomach and while he was out of breath, pulled with all her might, flipping him over. He was smacked onto the ground, the breath rushing out of him. It was almost worth it, however when she straddled him, holding a the small wooden sword up to his throat. She came down within inches of his face, mischeviously smiling, her hair falling over her shoulder in a sloppy braid.

"Something like that", she replied, her breath sweetened with mint felt hot on his lips. She unconsciously (?) or not rubbed her hips on his, giving him a quick squeeze in between her thighs.

"My lady, people could start to talk", he raggedly spat out, still trying to breathe normally and feeling a tightness in his breeches.

She feigned confusion.

"I am sure I don't know what you are talking about". And with that she released him and walked away.

And that's how it went for a week- light sparring in the morning, she was sharing some of her methods with his men- always barefooted, always without armor to Jory's protests. She moved like a dancer- fluid, graceful. He watched her and she knew he did. Maybe there was an extra shake of the hips, maybe not. Maybe she let him win on occasion, maybe not. But either way he was always breathless, stirring, falling in love with Arya, the woman. The warrior. He didnt want to- but he knew, as she turned to him and smiled over her shoulder that first night, that he was powerless. He knew he felt like a boy of 7 and 10- excitement rang through him in the morning. Some days he would wake up and watch her running along the wall in the sunrise, the cold air stinging him, her braid bouncing with her steps. She didn't run- she glided.

But he couldn't go on like this- she was above him- she was a lady- he was a knight. So he had decided to eat dinner with his men that night, forsaking their usual chatting and the way she would grab his arm in her enthusiasm over a point or a memory.

 

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Arya sat on her bed chewing her thumbnail. She didn't want it to- but it bothered her. It JUST did. Why had he only acknowledged her curtly and politely at supper? The way he looked at her, and she could see the pupils opening in those eyes that she loved. Those warm chocolate eyes, which still seemed haunted, but filled with joy when he talked to her about Robb or Sansa's wedding. Her stomach filled with excitement when she saw him come into the hall every night and the way he smiled at her, sent shockwaves down her spine, to her belly and lower- even to the bottoms of her feet. She hoped he didn't notice the way her nipples would harden when she laughed. If he did, he was too polite to admit it. She had missed it all tonight. It wasn't like every other night, when she found her fingers exploring her body, imagining him watching her. She could feel her face grow hot with anger and slammed her fist into her bedding.

"Damn him!" she yelled out to no one in particular. She roughly got up, switching bodices to one a little more low-cut, but didn't put on shoes and retained her dirtied britches. She reached into her saddle-bag and retrieved a bottle of Apricot Brandy from Dorne. She smirked to herself.

 

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Jory had untucked his undershirt, letting his hang loosely over his britches. He stretched out in front of the large, open window, letting the slightly chilled night air whirl around him. Something about the air of the North- it had a certain smell, certainly cleaner than in Kings Landing, but also the smells of wood burning chimneys, a scent he had always loved. He jumped at the sudden urgent pound on his door. He quickly crossed the room, grabbing a dagger. As soon as he opened the door, it flew open and almost hit him in the face. Arya stark had kicked it out of his grip and walked in, an unapologetic smile flashed quickly on her face. She walked to his dress table, slamming down an orange-brown bottle shaped like a mermaid.

"Let's talk."

 

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She poured him another small glass. Jory's head was slightly loose.

"I could not do it another night", he confessed, turning away from her. "I am just a master of arms. I'm not worthy of someone…", he turned quickly around, gesturing to her before knocking back the glass in one swallow.

Arya surveyed him, taking a big swig of her own glass. She was noticing the nice fit of the britches, the nicely formed muscles of his ass. She got up, putting her hand on his shoulder. He wanted to flinch, but didn't.

"Jory…" she started to say.

He turned around quickly, her hand falling off of his form. Her eyes, than fingers traced the front laces of his shirt. He closed his eyes for a moment, her touch weakening him.

"My Lady...please don't. You don't want this."

"I am no lady. And how come men presume to know the hearts of women?" she said, her fingers finding his nipple through the cream linen and circling it, her mouth curling slightly as it stiffened. The sensations rippled through him, ending in his cock.

"All of my life I have had people telling what I should and shouldn't do. If I had listened- I never would have made it out of the Red Keep". With that her face grew serious and she inhaled deeply.

He grabbed her fingers, kissing them.

"Arya- I am just a servant here. A knight- a Master of Arms at Winterfell. But I failed- I failed your father." And with that he put her hands back down at her sides.

"You didn't fail my father! I failed my father. Sansa failed him- the whole bloody realm failed him! You were with him until the end. I know what went on." She picked up the empty glasses and filled them.

"My father loved you like a brother", she reminded him, handing him a glass. "You are one of the few things I have left- who knew me for who I was. Before all the killing. Before seeing villagers butchered. Before having a power over life and death. When I was just a girl who hated being a girl." She laughed.

He walked to her, setting down his glass, running a finger across her cheek, smoothing away a tear. She looked at him, her hazel eyes gazing up at him with need.

"You are no longer a girl."

He reached the back of her neck and brought his lips down to hers. Tentatively at first, gentle. But she grabbed his face and kissed roughly, like she couldn't get enough. He responded in kind, his tongue seeking out her warm mouth and touching hers. His arms went around her, crushing her to his body, lifting her small body up as her arms went around his neck. They broke apart, breathing heavily.

His face went to her shoulder, his fingers digging in, moving fabric aside to get to bare skin and finding it with his lips. She gasped as he moved up from her shoulder, along her neck to her earlobe where he slightly bit and sucked on it. Her fingers combed through his hair and his hands kneaded her back. He kissed her mouth once again, picking her up and taking her over to the bed. He placed her knee first on the mattress so she was kneeling and he was standing, now they were the same height. He found her hair tie and let her hair stream down her back. Her fingers fumbled with the laces of his undershirt, before he couldn't stand anymore and just pulled the fabric over his head, where it slid ungracefully to the floor.

Her hands wandered over his chest, occasionally stopping at a scar, before moving on. He was powerfully built and muscled- with broad shoulders and a well defined abdomen, with a good amount of hair but not enough to cover him. Jory grinned, having already undone half of the laces of her bodice before she even noticed. She leaned forward and kissed one of his nipples, gently biting it and sucking. He growled and then just tore the rest of the laces, the bodice now in two pieces. She laughed and soon her small clothes were in pieces as well. He was painfully straining against his britches by now, but this was no wench to be simply ravished. She laid back against the mattress, her breasts spilling out. The nipples were small and pink, reminding of him of small rose buds. She was smiling and biting her lip shyly, twisting the sheets underneath her.

He backed her up onto the bed, hovering above her. He kissed her again, then sat back on his heels, simply looking at her- her lean body, her delicate breasts, her dazzling eyes. His hands traveled up her legs and up the sides of her body. Arya laid back, watching his handsome face and smiling- it was like a little boy with a new toy. He kissed her again, his mouth traveling over her collarbone, his hands grabbing her breasts, pinching the nipples. She gasped and arched her pelvis slightly, sensations traveling through her body and growing hot below her belly. His knee traveled up between her legs, and she shamelessly ground against it. He lightly planted kisses across her chest before going down and sucking on one hardened nipple. She grabbed the back of his head, her eyes fluttering closed as he lightly bit the bud, then soothed it with his tongue. He traveled over to the other one and stopped, resting his chin on her chest and touching her chin with his hands.

"My love…" he said, and their eyes met. He saw need, tenderness, fiery desire. And with their eyes still locked he went and suckled the other breast. She could've killed him for that- she was showing her hand, how much power he had at that moment. But for once, she was helpless and all she could do was watch his lips on her body. Jory left her breasts, nipples engorged and tingling.

She reached down between them, trying to undo the laces of her britches as quickly as possible, and he again sat back onto his heels, helping her. They soon slid off and he kissed the exposed skin right above her mound resting his cheek for one minute before sliding his hands lightly over her taut legs. Arya was giggling and kicking a little furiously now and sat up to unlace his britches, catching his gaze and grinning. He shifted, allowing his cock to spring free as he pulled his britches down. He was slightly nervous. She watched for a moment and reached out for him and he closed his eyes as she wrapped her hand around his hardness. His lips parted, a small breath escaping as her warm and tight hand traveled the length of his cock.

"Impressive", she said aloud. He grinned back at her, pushing her onto the bed and pulling her ankles apart passionately. He looked at her slick folds, the brown hair that hid her from him. Jory was pleased to find her wet as he lightly slid one finger along her lips. She writhed a little, squeezing him with her legs. His slid one finger tentatively inside of her, crooking his finger up and with the other hand finding the small nub of her pleasure and rubbing it gently with his thumb. Her face was flushed, and she gasped as a second finger joined the first. The two fingers pumped into her in rhythm with the circling of his thumb and she spread her legs even further, rocking her hips against his fingers. He increased his pace, plunging into her deeper and deeper. She could feel the tensions coiling in her belly, until all at once every muscle in her body became taut as a bowstring then released and she cried out, squeezing her legs together over his still working hand. He didn't quit and the extra effort brought her another small orgasm. He smiled to himself, happy to see her hair wild about her, her face flushed, her nipples hard.

When she regained some strength, she grabbed his shoulders and pinned him down to the bed, holding his arms above his head, surveying his muscles torso, his hard cock hitting her in the belly. She "innocently" brushed it, kissing him on the mouth, so roughly he thought he tasted blood but he didn't care- loving the brushing of her breasts on his bare chest. Arya soon took the initiative, grinding her hips against his, attacking his neck and chest, rolling one of his nipples between her fingers and biting his earlobe. She traveled down his body, keeping eye contact with a look of rapture. She nuzzled his cock, one of the larger and longer she had seen. He gasped as she wrapped her cool lips around the red head and he was flattened back against the sheets, her warm mouth enveloping him, her lips slick but tight against him. Jory wound his hand around her hair, bringing her back up to kiss her and scooting forward to her.

He sat up, and guided her legs around him, and she could feel him budging her entrance. They were face to face and he ran his palm on her cheek and she was slightly nervous, but smiling.

"Are you sure?", he asked her nervously. She smiled back at him, knowing full well the meaning of "baby-making eyes" now as his kind brown eyes looked at her with love.

"I-I am no maiden." Her eyes darted back and forth. Jory was not surprised- he had heard tales of Bravos.

He smiled at her.

"Nor am I.", he replied and they both laughed. She kissed him again, and she rose up on her knees, and he held himself at her entrance as she sank down on him, enveloping him in warm tightness. He was fully inside of her, and for a moment neither of them moved. Then he couldn't stay still anymore, his cock twitched and she giggled as she felt it. Jory growled and pushed her backwards until he was atop her. His hips started pumping into her and his pelvis crushed her clit with each thrust. Arya wound her legs around him, arching her hips up with his thrusts, and she could feel the tension once again starting in her, crying out as his manhood brushed something deep within her, causing her to gasp. He liked the reaction, sure to repeat the movement over and over. Their eyes met and she smiled, his hand tracing over her face. His thrusts became deeper and faster until he hit that spot way inside a final time, and she cried out wordlessly. He stilled his movements, in her deep and letting her ride out her pleasure. Jory was sure he couldnt last too much longer- but he stilled for a few moments and when she had caught her breath, he grabbed her face, sucking on her full lips, pumping into her and finally moved one of her legs over his shoulder, causing him to sink deeper.

He gave one final deep thrust, and rubbed her clit causing her cry out loudly. Her nails dug into his buttocks, urging him on. She was so warm and tight and wet around him, the feeling of her muscles grasping him was too much and he spent himself inside of her. Gasping and holding onto her thighs he pulled her even closer, unable to move. He fell forward onto her, still inside of her and she was breathless, kissing his brow as he laid his head on her chest. He lightly nuzzled one of her breasts and she lazily combed his hair with her fingers, liking the male scent of him- the scent of wood fires burning, leather and something else- him.

She exhaled worriedly. What now? Had they just ruined a great friendship?

Jory rolled over, hugging her to him as she laid her head onto his chest, playing with his dark hair and the light layer of sweat on him. He looked at the ceiling. He wasnt feeling alone. He could get lost with THIS woman. Jory wondered if this was some dream the Gods sent him. But as he felt Arya's leg drape over him, her breath light on his chest he knew it wasn't a dream.  He lightly rubbed her shoulder with his large hand.

He smiled.

“No maiden huh?”, he asked, smiling down at her.  She flushed lightly, focusing on her fingers rubbing his chest.

“Are you asking me of my life before this? I will tell you all you wish to know.”

“Youre secrets are your own My Lady.  I just hope he was worthy of you.”

She sat up, her brown hair tickling her back.  He placed a hand on her back, playing with the ends of her hair.  Arya smiled to herself, remembering.  She looked back at Jory, laying back on his arm, his chest rising and falling lightly as his breathing returned to normal.

“His name was Gendry.  He had been my companion on the road- I lost sight of him when I went to Braavos.  After I had returned, he was my first…assignment.”

Jory’s forehead wrinkled in confusion.

“Assignment?  For…”, he trailed off, his hand gesturing to the bed.  She hit him in the thigh, a strong fist.

“NO!  What do you think I am?”

He sat up next to her.

“I did not mean…I am sorry…”

She smiled at his confusion.

“Assignment…as an assassin…a killer. A servant of the house of black and white.”  She looked slightly down at that.  He flinched a little. 

“But I could not go through with it.  I knew then I was not a true servant- I had looked into the eyes of my friend from 6 years before and I found myself weeping, into his arms.  It was the first time in 6 years I had allowed myself to feel anything.  He did not know why I was there and neither did I.  He was a blacksmith, turned into a highwayman.  He had disarmed me, with his black hair and his blue eyes.  It was the first time I had been happy since my father…”

Jory listened intently, putting an arm around her shoulder and wiping away a tear that slid down her freckled cheek.  She sniffed, rubbing her eyes furiously and rested her head on his shoulder, and he laid them back onto the bed. 

“Ill go talk to Lord Stark tomorrow. I do not want to be without you, from this night forward. If that is your wish as well."

Arya raised her head, propping herself up on her elbow. He met her eyes, tender but nervous over her response.

"I'm home Jory. This is the first moment I've felt…that I've felt at home. With you." She leaned in and kissed him. "As long as youll take me as I am. I will never be like Sansa, or even my mother." She looked slightly worried.

He smiled down at her.

"I could agree to being wedded barefoot."


	2. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Was it more than lust for Jory and Arya?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay- writing this because people seem to actually LIKE my first part, haha! Anyways Im not a great writer like GRRM. So without further adieu, I bring you the second part of ASMOW.

Arya’s eyes raced under her slumbering lids.  She was again on the King’s Road, with her horse, Lady, named after Sansa’s slain wolf.  But she wasn’t grown- she was 9 again.  Each side of the road was dotted with giant posts.  No- not just posts, each had a hideous corpse dangling from it, their eyes all turning to view her as she went past.  Their sockets anyways, apart from the crusted dripping gore that used to be their eyes before the crows got to them.  A single crow remained, jumping from head, to skull, to head to a stump of spine.  It waited for her, cawing, remaining one step ahead.  At the end of the road, she saw Robb, Grey Wolf faithfully standing next to him.  He was leaning on the pummel of his sword, smiling.  She beamed- coaxing Lady into a trot, then a gallop…she wasn’t getting any closer.  On and on she ran- he stayed the same distance away- a beacon of her old life…forever lost.  Vaguely she felt warmth throughout her dream…and then there was an arm around her.  She looked down- a man’s arm.  And she was again 19.  She grasped the arm, the road fading away, Robb’s smiling face fading. 

 

“WAIT!” she yelled, before her eyes flung open.  She breathed heavily, realizing where she was.  She was…home.  The bed moved with shifting weight, and the arm trailed down, circling her navel.

 

“What is it?” she heard Jory say, as he sat up next to her.  She looked back at him, confused, heart still racing from her dream.  His brow was wrinkled in confusion, and he dropped his lips to plant a small kiss on her shoulder. 

 

Arya exhaled in relief.  She closed her eyes again, rubbing her brow with her palms. 

 

“Just a stupid nightmare.  Coming…coming home has stirred up a lot I thought I’d made peace with.”

 

He rested his lips against her arm again and she turned on her back to look up at him.  His eyes were heavy with sleepiness, but his stubble made him more handsome.  She got up and sat at the edge of the bed.  He propped himself up on his elbow , looking at the smooth lines of her back, wanting to trace sun-kissed skin with his fingers.  Arya stood up naked, welcoming the shock of the stone floor on her feet. Her back cramped a little and a knee stung under her- a result of an injury long ago.  Walking over to the open window, she held her arms up, the curtains and the air cooling her warm skin as she looked out onto the woods beyond the keep.  Her heartbeat returned to normal, and she was almost afraid to look behind her, at the caring man in his bed, eyeing her.  Was he really there, or was this a cruel test?

 

Her concerns were unfounded as she felt his arms slide in around her, hugging her close to his naked form and kissing her neck.  She couldn’t help but smile as she could feel Jory’s arousal, but he wasnt pushing her.  He just held her close, rocking with her. 

 

“Someone may see all of you in this window.  I’d rather you be where I can keep you warm and safe”, he stated and she laughed as Jory pulled her with him, backing slowly to the bed.  He cupped her breast with one hand, pinching the nipple delicately and biting her earlobe.  With the other he applied a little pressure on the apex of her thighs, not directly touching her nub, but pushing down on it rhythmically.  Arya felt any anxiety melt out of her, squirming against him.

“And who will keep me safe from you?” she replied, eliciting a half-laugh, half-grunt from him.  She reached around, feeling his tight buttocks.  He pulled her down to the bed, on top of him at first.  Then he moved her delicately so that again they were spooning, her legs drawn up in front of her, onto the bed. The pressure of her thighs clenching together was in just the right spot, where Jory had had his hand before.  He was busy now, sliding a finger, then two, in and out of her, spreading her wetness and enjoying feeling the trembling of her inner walls.  He smiled to himself.  She reached back to him, touching one muscular thigh, trailing down to touch his arousal.

     His bottom arm grasped her close and he entered her swiftly, stilling for a moment.  The other holding her hip still against him.  It was different than the night before, but more quickly found the secret spot inside of her that in tandom with the squeezing of her thighs on her nub sent electrical shocks through her body.  She cried out and he thrust more fiercely- she felt so warm and tight around him and he liked the feeling of himself slick with her arousal.  He whispered her name, hot and breathy against her ear.  He could feel her rippling around him- she was close.  Jory silently thanked the blonde serving wench that had taught him this position- he seemed to be hitting her just right with every thrust.  Arya squeezed her legs as tight as they would go and just then he buried himself as deep as he could go, grinding against the soft inside of her as she peaked. 

 

“Jory!”, she cried loudly, biting his hand as he also peaked, his warmth spreading deep inside of her.  He slumped onto the furs, but neither of them moved for a long while.  He pulled her closer to him, exhaling loudly.

 

“I have them too.  Night terrors.  My mother used to think it was a second sight or something like that- she had a bit of the Children of the Forest in her blood.  I think before the chill took her, she knew.  And she was helpless.  I have spent my life realizing I would rather not know when my end was near.”

 

Arya nodded, rolling onto her back. 

 

“I think that is the only wise choice.  Otherwise you may miss what is right in front of you.”  She glanced up at him, his face flushed from their love-making.  He leaned down and kissed her.  Her heart swelled with emotion and it brought tears to her eyes.  She laughed.

 

Jory layed down, pulling her close.  He looked down at her rich brown hair.

 

“ Why me?  You must know how lovely you are.  In three days banner men from all over the North would’ve stormed this place with flowers and mead and jewels for your hand- for the hand of the Lady of Winterfell.”

 

Arya rolled onto her stomach, looking up at him with her hazel-grey eyes. 

 

“Have I ever done anything like a typical ‘Lady’?  I learned long ago that…nobility is not a birthright.  It is defined by the man…or the woman.  Their actions.  After you were released with my father’s body- you joined ranks with Robb, even after his defeats.  Through the Red Wedding, you took command of the Western forces then.  Besides…”, she started, stroking his cheek, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear.  “You are quite comely.”

 

Jory laughed at her, leaning forward to kiss her and grasp her hand.

 

“I will talk to Lord Bran today…if marrying me is something you still desire.  I love you Arya.  I cant shut it off.”

 

“I love...I love you too.  Just do not keep me in a cage Jory.  I am still a wolf, after all.”


	3. Wedded and Bedded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They tied the knot!

 

 

     Jory swung the cloak around her shoulders and uttered some vows.  Arya could barely hear them, only the feeling of his wool cloak around her, protecting her and his gray-brown eyes gazing into her own.  She felt a flush coming up her neck as they kissed as man and wife, and the crowd broke into applause and cheers.

 

    The dinner went smoothly enough, a roast boar on the spit, artichokes sprinkled with parsely and melted butter.  A modest cake- nothing over the top, just right for a Master of Arms.  And of course wine- delicious strawberry wine from Highgarden.  Arya sucked down her 3rd cupful, feeling lightheaded but in a good way.  Its not often she stopped overthinking and went with her emotions.  Not for one moment in the last 10 years has she been able to be off-guard.  She swore her own wedding would be an exception. 

   Jory had been up, laughing with some of his men, Rikken and Bran, but frequently turning to her and smiling like a teenager.  She caught his gaze and her eyes narrowed in a sultry fashion and she gazed at him from the top of the horn.  He exhaled and straightened his grey tunic, it matching her new one.  Arya-Cassel.  It had dignity to it. 

 

“GET TO THE BEDDING!” she heard a voice cry out and all turned their heads to see Jory’s cousins with their arms interlocked struggling to stand up onto a table.  Other voices joined in, and soon fists and horns were being banged on the tables, calling for the stripping and consummation of the newlyweds.

 

Arya felt herself lifted up by a dozen hairy arms, slung over the shoulder of one of the dark-haired cousins and swept into a side room.  A dozen men surrounded her, first lifting her mother’s gown off of her, then roughly grabbing at her small clothes. 

 

“Ouch!”, she said as she felt scratches form across her torso.

 

“Excuse me m’lady!” a red-headed squire said, although his attention seemed to be on her bared breasts.  She feebly put a hand over them and her naked butt.  Several of the men slapped her exposed flesh before lifting her up in their arms and moving her up the stairs.

 

Jory had been a little luckier- the gaggle of maidens and other women who circled him delighted and giggled as they carefully took off his clothing.  They gasped into laughter as they pulled down his britches, someone appreciatively pinching his thigh and buttocks.  He rolled his eyes, laughing and pulled off his shirt.  The door to his bedroom crashed open and he only managed an exasperated laugh as he approached the giant man leading the pack.

 

“Alright lads, give me my wife!” he said, Arya’s form sliding into his arms. 

 

The ladies muttered.

“She still has her surcoat on!” they exclaimed.  Arya rolled her eyes, a smile playing on her face just for him. 

 

“Leave it!”, Jory answered.  “She will not be wearing it for very long.”  And with that the excitedly shocked ladies left the room, shoving their inebriated companions in front of them.  At last the door shut, leaving the two of them alone.  They stood stone silent, finally their eyes meeting and they burst out with laughter.

 

“Imagine them leaving this on you…” he said, setting her down carefully, her feet regaining balance on the fur surrounding the bed.  Her arms remained about his neck.  His soft eyes looked at her with ferocity.  His hands trailed down the sides of her body  finally reaching the top of her petticoat, sliding it down.  Arya exhaled, loving the feather light feel of the fabric on her bare legs, until it whispered down to the floor, leaving her exposed.  Jory’s fingers played just as lately, and goosebumps appearing on her skin as he traveled up her spine and into her hair.

   He smiled.

 

“Cold?” he asked kiddingly.  She simply kissed him, her soft lips meeting his rough ones.  Tenderly at first then more urgently, his arms snaking around her waist, pulling her close.  He kissed her neck, his hot breath trailing down her collarbone. 

 

“Whats that?” he asked her, again brushing her hair away from her ear, a mark on her neck just noticeable to him.

 

She saw where he was gesturing to and smiled to herself.

 

“They call it a skin carving.  I got it in Braavos, at the end of my…education there.”  It was the profile of a wolf’s head, stylized in black right behind her ear. 

 

“It is beautiful.  I have never seen anything like it.” Jory said, giving it a little kiss, taking the opportunity to breathe in the sweet scent of her brown hair.

 

She closed her eyes, shuddering at his gentle touch.  She turned his head to once again ravage his lips and he responded pulling her even tighter and she wrapped her legs around him, their breath quickening.  He cupped her ass, moving her further up his body.  Jory was acutely aware of her womanhood pushing above his own groin.  Her arms draped around his shoulders and he turned, walking with her towards the bed, struggling to not just take her on the floor beneath them.  He laid down on top of her on the bed, his arousal was fully on him now, and she was squirming delightfully underneath him.  He smiled into her eyes, moving a lock of her hair out of her eyes before kissing her quickly on the lips, then trailing down to her chin, circling his tongue on her collarbone and cupping her breasts with his hands.  Warm and heavy, she moved his thumbs across them, liking the way they stiffened under his touch.

 

Arya squeaked from her throat as he replaced his hands with his mouth, sucking and gently biting her rosy peaks, desire pooling in between her legs.  Jory was shaking with need, but he wanted to give her a proper wedding night, his own ache mounting just as much.  He left her breasts kissing her navel before sitting back, grabbing her legs and bending her knees, pulling them apart.  She looked up at him and he flashed her a wicked grin and fastened his mouth onto her moist wetness, parting his lips with his tongue.  She gasped loudly as his she felt his lips fasten onto her nub gently, coaxing it into readiness with light touches and strokes until she felt his cool tongue enter her.  His hand replaced his lips and kneaded her pleasure nub as he kissed her entrance, licking at her taste and smelling the scent of her need.  She grabbed his hand with hers, absent-mindedly scratching his palm until he entwined his fingers with hers and held it tight.  She closed her eyes, arching her back and pushing her hips towards his face until she released his hand and he held her thrashing form down.  He continued to explore the inside of her, his pressure increasing until she couldn’t take anymore. 

 

      Jory felt her pull away from him- maybe she wasn’t enjoying it, although her moaning suggested otherwise.

 

“I need you now!”, she proclaimed. Then with a warrior’s strength she turned him over, flattening his back against the sheets and straddled him, sinking down on him roughly. 

He could barely breathe, her hips squeezing him, her warm tightness enveloping him. 

He closed his eyes, reaching up to massage her breasts as she started rising and falling on his form.  Jory thought he would die of happiness right there- seeing her hair wildly tossed about, her face smiling with pleasure.  He reached down and flattering his fingers against her pleasure center.  She almost grunted as he penetrated her deep, his hips rising to meet hers and establishing a rhythm.  She was pulling at him, cooling then heating him up again with each thrust.  Arya was close, he could feel but he didn’t know if he could last.  He increased his minstrations on her nub, and she crashed violently as she slammed down on him a last time, shuddering atop him, and he peaked them, a choked cry escaping his lips as his pleasure overtook him.  She supported herself on her arms, on either side of him.  He pulled her down to him, still inside of her, her face flushed and humming as she rested her head on his chest. 

 

* 

 

     Arya moved rhythmically in the saddle, her cloak hiding her smile.  She doesn’t know why she was trying to hide it from him- _her husband_ \- the word bounced around her head oddly.  Would she ever get used to it?  So she settled on a smirk and looked over at him, riding next to her. 

     He sat up tall in his saddle, one arm clutching the reins, another hand straightening his cloak over her back.  He caught her eyes and smiled, giving her shoulder a quick squeeze. 

 

Jory cleared his throat.

 

“My love I know it is nothing like Riverrun or Braavos, but it is the land of my kin.  We can boast spectacular waterfalls.  My brothers and I used to fish and swim there- and it would be good for me to check in on Beth.”  He seemed to grow a little sad thinking of his family, but quickly shook it off.

 

She smiled reassuringly at him, anticipation taking the better of her.

 

“It’s going to be beautiful, like you my handsome husband”, she replied reaching out to touch his hand.

 

*


	4. Blast from the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Honeymoon. No lemony goodness yet- but soon I promise =)

       Arya had only ever seen the mountains from afar as a child- never been into the rocky crags, the lakes that dipped between peaks into lush valleys.  The small castle wasn’t as imposing as Winterfell, just a small stone structure in the middle of a stone wall set against a rushing waterfall, with the 10-wolf banner of the Cassel’s next to the Starks flapping in the wind.  She couldn’t help grinning- Jory’s enthusiasm was infectious, and he gave her hand a quick squeeze before riding ahead of their party through the gate. 

      She came up a few moments later, laughing to herself as she saw Beth throw her arms around her cousin and hold him close.  Beth sauntered over to Arya’s horse and Arya dismounted gracefully.  The Cassel woman held her face in between her hands, smiling warmly and searching her eyes.

 

“I can see so much of your father in you”, she said, making Arya frown for a quick moment but accepting it as a compliment. She shared Jory’s soft eyes, but she had a strong chin like Ser Rodrick had had.

 

     Beth hugged Arya close. Over her shoulder she saw Jory go over to a fruit vendor, one of the few farmers that made their way North to try to unload a surplus.  He bought an apple from the man, a man in his 50th year with blonde hair and a short, pug-like nose- but striking green eyes which fixed onto Arya’s.  She felt a knot develop in her belly.  As he winked at her and smirked, she gasped.

 

*

 

Jory held her hand and she laughed, free to give him open-mouthed kisses among the catcalls and drunken mumblings of the small Hall.  Again, not as big as Winterfells’, but she remembered shivering in the cold on King’s Road, cuddling between two large hogs for warmth.  She was not picky.  Besides it was wonderful seeing Jory so carefree- its something she had wanted for herself, but she couldn’t tear her mind away from that odd farmer in the yard.  She did not know the man, but he was…familiar somehow.

 

“An apple for a Lady?” she heard someone ask her from behind.  Arya’s back stiffened and knew it was the farmer. 

 

“A girl is no longer a girl…and a man has noticed.” 

 

She turned and looked up at his face, still smiling down at her but becoming younger somehow, the farmer-tan smoothing back into a face she recognized.  She stood solemnly and tugged his cloak for him to follow.

 

*

 

Jory’s eyes narrowed and he stood up, trying in vain to see above the crowd and wish he could hear what they were saying.  He saw his Lady wife arguing with a farmer who serenely looked at her.  He noticed the farmer touching her arm, her arms crossed over her chest.  A single tear fell from her eye, and Arya looked up then, meeting eyes with her husbands questioning face.  She walked away then, whirling into the kitchen’s.  The farmer surveyed the room quickly and walked casually the opposite way.

 

 

    Arya sat in a stairwell, the stone cold against her but a welcome strength against her weakness.  When had she gotten so…weak?  She had been so many people- she was looking forward to again being Arya Stark…or Arya Cassel.  Either way, she would be Arya again.  She thought it was behind her and then she saw Jaqen.  Jaqen whom she thought about often, the handsome shape-shifter who had helped her 9 years ago and who she had always wondered about.  What was he doing here?

   

“Did a girl think she could simply run home?” he had asked her.  He touched her on the arm then, where the tear from her eye had landed. 

 

“Yes actually- a Lady did! Jaqen or whatever your name really is, I am done.  I was never a true servant anyways.  I never gave all of myself away, didn’t the Master know that?  I did not even finish my first assignment.  Why would you come a world away for me?”

 

“A man often wondered about the girl.  The girl with the grey eyes and death in her soul.  A man volunteered.”

 

She remained puzzled and walked away then, through the kitchens.

 

 *

 

       Jory sat up underneath his furs, looking over inventory documents.  He sighed.  NOT what he had wanted to do on with his time alone, in his stronghold with his wife.  He couldn’t shake seeing the tear come down her freckly face  He wanted nothing more than to throttle that farmer- what could he have possibly said?  He knew Arya would have been furious- she certainly knew how to take care of herself.  He cleared his throat, setting the documents aside as Arya entered their quarters, glancing at his face quickly as she entered and then avoiding his curious gaze.

 

She sat on the edge of the bed, removing her boots, standing when she felt him gently stroke her back.  Not lustfully, but tenderly. She did not want the affection now.  She did not deserve it.  Arya did not regret her time in Braavos.  But that was then and this is now.  She stepped out of her dress acutely aware of his gaze on her. 

  

“My wife…have I done something to offend you?”, he said, oddly reminded of the time he had last seen her as a child- rushing in, telling her to pack her things before they fled the Red Keep. 

 

Arya looked at him then and shook her head, crawling underneath the furs in her smallclothes and resting her head on his lap.  He smoothed back her hair, laying a kiss on her crown before blowing out the lantern and laying down himself. 

     Arya sighed, wanting to shake him, tell him everything, lay down her burdens. But she could not; not to this man who had his own burdens to bear.  When she finally felt the gentle rise and fall of his chest, she knew he was asleep.  She slipped from underneath his large, warm hands, laying a kiss on one of his palms.  She pulled on a shift and quietly went out the door.  Jory rolled onto his side, his eyes open.


	5. Night Visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya goes to settle a score.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff ok?

Arya came down the hall before turning into a staircase, dagger held out before her.  It rested at the throat of Jaqen, exactly as she had remembered him: his half-red, half-white hair glossy and parted in the middle.  His crisp linen shirt unbuttoned halfway, tucked into his leather britches. 

 

“What are you really doing here?  Why are you trying to interfere with my life NOW?” she asked, heaving.

 

Jaqen smiled serenely, pushing aside the blade at his throat, letting it scratch his skin ever so slightly.

 

“A man was sent…sent to bring death to a lady.  A lady that knows all the secrets of the Faceless.”

 

Arya’s jaw tensed, her belly flipping.

 

“One word and _a lady_ could have 20 guards here.  Or a lady could dispatch you herself.:”

 

“A lady could do that.  That is one of the greater parts of life- many possibilities.”

 

He walked closer to her, letting his palms travel up her arms.  She set down the dagger.

 

“Why did you volunteer?”

 

“As I said, a man has often wondered what happened to his wolfling.  A wolf in lion’s clothing.  Now a dagger…in wolf’s clothing”.  He walked behind, her tugging at her long hair.  “Is the lady happy?  Does her Lord know her at all?”

 

“Yes.  Yes.  This lady is.  He knows me.  Knows what I have done.”

 

He spun her roughly around to face him.

 

“AH.  Not like a man does.  Not like many Bravossi did before taking their last breath.”

 

Arya grit her teeth, her fingers flexing around the hilt of the dagger. 

“That’s not all there is to me.  We all have our secrets.  If you’re going to kill me-“  she said raising the blade up to his face, “then try.”

 

Jaqen released her arms, smirking at the knife and let out an exaggerated sigh.

 

“A man would- but a Lady’s life is no longer only her own.”  His hand smoothed over her belly.

 

Arya’s eyes widened.  Her hand covered his on her belly. 

 

      His face came close to hers, his eyes searching her features, pausing over her lips.  He gave a light kiss to her lips then her forehead.

 

“There are 2 more here now.  Those are not mine to take.” 

 

    And with that, he backed away into the darkness, his eyes never leaving hers.  His mouth didn’t move, but she heard his voice.

 

“The Temple awaits you.  It will always be waiting.”

 

Arya’s breath quickened and she dropped the dagger with a clank.  She smiled, grasping her stomach. 

 

 *

    

      Jory poured another hornful of wine, but didn’t raise it to his lips.  He simply looked down at the red liquid, swirling it around.  Things were not going as planned.  And it was pissing him off.  He didn’t even turn around when he heard the heavy door of their chambers open and close.  Instead he threw the horn into the fireplace, reveling in the smashing sound of the vessel against the logs and the sizzle of the liquid as it was burned away in the flames.

 

    “I haven’t pushed you.  I haven’t caged you. But you wont let me in.”  He turned around, his jaw clenched angrily.

 

Arya stood motionless, a bit stunned.  But she was no coward.  This isn’t her first argument.  And it wouldn’t be their last…passion wasn’t only for love.

 

“What would you have me say?  That there are horrors in my memory, in my very soul I cant be rid of? 

 

Jory responded by violently ripping off the fur cloak he had been wearing as it all of a sudden as if it was irritating him.  It dropped to the floor.

 

“I told you once youre secrets are your own.  But- I feel like Im failing at this- another failure!  How can I protect you, look after you if I know not where you go?  You leave on the night after our marriage wielding a dagger?  If you didn’t come back, what then?  Should I accept it? Should I look for you and would you be warm…or cold when I find you?”

 

Arya swirled around, grabbing the candlestick from the end table and throwing it against the wall behind a stunned Jory.  She marched up to him, her hands in small fists against his chest.

 

“This lack of confidence in you…it appears not even I can help you realize how amazing you are.  How safe I feel with you.  But I am feral at heart- it was only me for a long time Jory.  Tonight is the first night I hadn’t gone to bed with a dagger under the bed, under my pillow, under the mattress.”

 

He grabbed her arms, stilling them, still angry but now concern was starting to take over.

 

"With you.”   Arya grabbed his hand and placed it on her belly. “And them.”

 

Jory’s eyes widened and inhaled sharply.  His eyes glistened and he dropped to his knees, burying his face into her belly.  He looked up at her face, a slow smile creeping across her lips, her cheeks still red from fury.

 

“How do you know?”

 

She smiled fully.

 

“I know. I have it on good authority.”  His forehead wrinkled in confusion but he seemed to accept it.  He kissed her belly, pulling her shift up over her hips and kissing her stomach, swirling his tongue in her navel.  Arya clutched at his head, swaying a little into him as his arms clutched the outside of her thighs.  His hands traveled up her legs up her sides and brushed the bottoms of her breasts.  He kissed down her abdomen to the apex between her legs, breathing in her scent.  His tongue parted her nether lips slightly, tasting her, overwhelmed with love for this woman.  Her hands closed over his on her chest, over her heart.

 

She lowered herself to the ground, cluthching his face and kissing it.  She peppered his face with light kisses, over his eyes, his scar and bit lightly at his earlobe. 

 

His chest still heaved from their argument, but he pressed their foreheads together, wrapping his strong arms around her and pulling her close. 

 

“My Lady, my Arya, you honor me.”  He kissed her fully on the lips, and she could taste the lingering wine on his lips and his tongue, tracing her lower lip before slipping into her mouth.

 

She closed her eyes, not an easy thing for her to do.  She breathed in deep, exploring her lover’s mouth with her own, feeling desire stirring in her abdomen.  She pushed him gently back onto the bear furs in front of the fireplace.  He smiled up at her as she crawled over him, meeting his lips gently. 

 

Arya kissed his chin, down his neck, and she felt the hair peaking out from the top of his undershirt tickle her chin.  She pulled the hem up to his shoulders, bearing his strong torso to her.  He was breathing deep, his hands going to her hair, one smoothing back her hair behind her ear, the other touching her shoulder, gently massaging it.  Her ringlets tickled his navel as her cool lips found a nipple and gently bit at it.  Jory made a sound similar to a “guh!” and she laughed against him.  She laid her body against him, feathering her hands down his sides, tickling him. 

  

      Without him noticing, she had already undone the laces on his britches, finding her way down into them and touching the hardening flesh there, which was straining against the leather.  With a groan of disappointment, Jory felt her leave his stirring manhood.  He glanced down at her, watched with a grin as she removed her own shift and then proceeded to remove his stockings and lifted his hips up so she could remove his britches.  He was totally naked now under her scrutiny, but he hardly noticed.  He was staring at her swaying breasts, and the lean muscle of her legs, the curve of her hips. 

 

     Arya straddled his legs, pressing the moistness between her legs against his knees.  He smiled and reached to touch her, but she pressed his hands to the floor and Jory smiled, probably looking like an idiot but he did not care. She started out at his feet, swirling around each toe with her tongue, taking them into her mouth and he felt his cock was going to burst with desire.  She was so warm and wet and he groaned loudly, his legs twitching.  She ran her tongue up his legs, his strong calves and nibbled on the insides of his thighs.  Arya kissed the soft flesh, just up to his hardness before going to the other leg.  Her name left his lips in a breath, and she kissed back up to his hips and took him in her mouth.  He exhaled again, lightly touching the back of her head and as her tongue swirled around his swollen member, her lips tight around him.  She was so warm on him, his hips bucked up to meet her.  She only smiled wickedly up at him, putting a hand on his flat stomach to keep him down.  The feelings were culminating in his abdomen now, and he felt he wouldn’t be able to hold back much longer. 

 

Jory sat up, taking her hands in his and rolling her onto her back, sliding one knee between her legs.  He pulled up her shift and entered her swiftly, sighing when he felt flesh on flesh.  He roughly pulled down the top of her nightgown, enough to expose her breasts and kiss them roughly.  She grabbed his head, kissing him as her hips wildly rose to meet his thrusts.  He put a hand around her thigh, and she complied with him by locking her ankles at the small of his back.  He kneaded her flesh roughly and she could feel him inside of her, stoking a fire.  Even though their bodies were wild with passion,  they kept their eyes locked, his wide with wonder and feeling, his hand tenderly touching the side of her face.  She leaned up to kiss his full lips, her belly tightening with release, her hips sliding as hard as they could against his.  He came violently, collapsing on his arms, his face resting on her bared chest and breathing in the scent of her hair. 

 

As the sweat dried on them both, the chill of the Northern night started in on them and he pulled more furs around them, holding her against his chest, drawing lazy circles on her back.

 

“We have to think of names.”  He smiled at that.  He had given up the idea of having children.  He was going to leave it up to Beth to carry on.  A cousin and two brothers perished in the Greyjoy rebellion, another was lost to the wilderness long ago, and the last two male cousins died at the Red Wedding.  No more Cassel’s he thought.  But now here he was, with two on the way.  If one could be a son, that would please him- a son with the name of his house.  But he didn’t care too much, as long as they were healthy.  But Arya and he were of strong stock.

 

Arya smiled at him, a bit nervous.

 

“Names?  Already?” 

 

“Why not?” 

 

“Isn’t it bad luck? To name them so early?”

 

Jory turned onto his side, letting her down gently onto her back and rubbing her belly lightly.

 

“How do you know there are two?”

 

She held his gaze.  “I know.”

 

  “Well, lets just say these are names…that we like very much my love and not for anyone in particular.”

 

She laughed at him, kissing him on the lips.  The fire crackled and burned and they talked into the night about a future neither of them expected to have.


	6. Three years later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end my friends. So sweet youll get a toothache =) Enjoy!

Three years later…

 

 

Arya looked up from her blankets at the sudden high-pitched laugh that pierced the air over the rushing sound of the water.  She smiled, seeing Jory swing up one of the small boys and whirl him around to stand on his shoulders.  The other let go of his arms and struggled, dog-paddling over to the side of the pool.  He got out giggling, naked as the day he was born. 

"Robb come here and get warm."

He ran over to the blanket and Arya quickly covered him up in a thick fur, rubbing her hands up and down his sides to warm him briskly.  As gorgeous as the waterfall was, when Arya first dipped her foot in she realized it was true Northern waters- ice that melted in the summer but was still as chilly as the mountain it ran from.  The little boy nestled against her belly, swollen with their third child.  She hoped for a girl.  He looked up at her and she kissed his forehead, his auburn curls drying against his forehead. 

 

“Rodrik be careful!” she yelled towards the pool, a half-second before the little one plugged his nose with his hand and jumped from his father’s shoulders.  He bobbed to the surface, spitting out water and paddling furiously as his dad picked him up and walked out of the water with him.

 

“I wasn’t done!” the little boy protested, looking at his father with the same sweet eyes.

 

“I think you’ve had enough”, Jory answered, setting him down on the ground and gently smacking his bottom, sending him running to the blanket.  The little one joined his brother, his darker, straighter “stark” hair dripping onto his small, pale shoulders.  Jory shook out his own locks, before laying down into the sun, his chest heaving, his face smiling.

 

Arya leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

 

“Getting too old for our young ones love?”  she asked kiddingly.  He was still comely, although he was silvered at the temples and a bit weathered.  He grinned up at her, his eyes narrowing against the dappling sunlight.  He frowned kiddingly back at her.  Jory turned onto his side, resting his head on one fist and surveyed his little family.  He reached up and gently rubbed her belly her hand soon rested over his.

 

“I am happy…young or old.”


End file.
